


Supernova

by tealuvhonor



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hair-pulling, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Protective Behavior, Reader-Insert, Road Head, Star-Wars typical quipping, extremely handsy Din Djarin, helmet stays on, the feeling you get when you put your head against the window on a bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22346632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealuvhonor/pseuds/tealuvhonor
Summary: The cockpit is as good a place as any.Alternatively: How's your head?
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 172





	Supernova

Your neck was killing you. 

Falling asleep inside the Razor Crest mid-flight was easy enough, but the requiescence of dozing off was eventually undercut by the jostling and bumps that unceremoniously jolted you awake. You awoke to a sky full of stars, having been propped up against the cool steel interior of the ship for hours. Your seat belt was fastened, but it didn’t stop you from hugging your knees to your chest and curling up. It was a valiant attempt at comfort, emphasis on the word attempt. Your best sleeps were spent on-world, burrowed within your Mandalorian’s chest, bereft of armored plating so that you could distinguish his heartbeat. 

Faintly, the thrum of the ship’s engine reverberated throughout your skull, starting as a dull ache at the nape of your neck, and threatening to spread to your temples if you didn’t rustle up a few pain relief tablets quickly. You fixed your posture accordingly to face the dashboard, and peered over at the pilot’s helmet glimmering dimly in the muted luminosity that space so benignly provided. 

“Where are we?” you inquired, and your voice sounded almost as groggy as you felt. A dark, knitted blanket was draped over your shoulders which you did not remember putting on. 

“Tegrat system,” your companion answered evenly, too preoccupied evading a large, tumbling chunk of space-rock to break his sightline, “Kinda turbulent.”

You couldn’t tell whether he sensed your consciousness quickly or was just at ease with your presence in general. You often wondered if his eyes softened when you spoke, much like you tended to rub your thighs together when you heard his voice. 

The beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips, despite the slight discomfort. During the first few weeks of your partnership, the bounty hunter remained more closed off than most, even for a warrior of his...persuasion. Nowadays, conversation came almost as easily as affection- not that the two of you didn’t work your way up to that level of mutual affinity. Your collaboration was initially intended to be a professional one, and his avoidance of touch seemed to be quite unvarying until a friendly brush of hands on your part morphed into something different. 

The man went from practically flinching at your advances to discreetly letting his hand hover near the small of your back in public places- no small feat. 

They know that I’m yours, you had once whispered jokingly at a Guild sanctioned establishment, reveling in his subsequent bewilderment. 

“Where’s the baby?” 

Din insisted on calling the mystery creature a foundling, in accordance with the way of the Mandalore. He stopped correcting you after a while, though. 

“Asleep in the back,” he indicated by tilting his head toward the door that lead outside the cockpit. You murmured your acknowledgement, unclicking the buckle to your seat belt and bracing yourself on a nearby handle to begin searching for a med kit that you knew was around somewhere. 

“Be careful getting up,” he turned his head briefly this time, gloved hands remaining on the flight mechanism. 

Your head wasn’t pounding yet, but you were still determined to catch the headache in its early stages. Determined, you hauled yourself upright and toward the control panel, using the back of the driver’s seat for leverage before spotting what you knew was the med kit peeking out of a nearby compartment. As the grating below your feet rattled, you freed your hand to stretch as far as you could without obstructing Din’s view. 

Tossing back two small, white tablets from the container, you were about to backtrack when an abrupt shift to the left impaired your center of gravity, practically flinging you into Mando’s lap. Luckily, his first instinct was to flick the switch to autopilot and hook his arms under your knees to prevent you from falling the rest of the way down. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” he deadpanned, and you breathed out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“I thought you found my clumsiness endearing,” you asserted as you grappled with the arms of the chair, attempting to sit upright atop his lap instead of stand. He tensed noticeably below you, presumably at the movement your hips were creating, but it didn’t stop you from wriggling until you were comfortably straddling him. 

The air of amusement faded quickly when your face was level with his, and you could see the stars reflected on his visor like small, luminous specks. 

“Care to buckle up before you end up endearing me with a concussion?” 

His tone was light, but you could sense a twinge of nerves. 

You shrug. 

“Didn’t know this one was taken,” you reply, thumbing absentmindedly at his chest plating, “I’ll hold on tight. Promise.”

You grasped at his bicep and leaned in close to murmur that last part, and couldn’t help but accentuate it with a barely-there roll of the hips. 

Mando wasn’t prepared enough to suppress a groan, which encouraged you to brush your lips along the side of his helmet. You were both excited and relieved to feel him jut upward into you as opposed to shying away, which melted into genuine surprise as he brought his fingers up to press into your lower back whilst the other hand snaked upwards, underneath the front of your shirt. They graze your ribcage, and you arch at the sensation of leather against your bare skin. He conjured the boldness to grab a handful of your ass, effectively dragging you down to meet the quickly developing hardness that was poking directly into you. 

You sighed into his scarf, wound snugly around his neck and shoulders, and barely noticed that you were so fixated on his scent. You were sort of dazed by how attractive he could be, fully armored but so expressive with his want for you. His head tilted back at an angle, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think that he was baring his neck for you. You couldn’t help but bite your lower lip at the idea, bringing your hand up tentatively to tug the gray fabric loose and reveal at least a sliver of skin. 

Taking full advantage of your distraction, he groped at your hips tightly enough that light bruising wouldn’t surprise you later on. At this, you whined deeply and doubled your efforts, eventually setting the thick fabric askew enough to see where the juncture of his neck met the dip of his collarbone. Seeing him disheveled like that was not an everyday occurrence. Knowing this, you surged forward to press open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat, your hips placed just so that you clearly felt him twitch. 

The first time you saw any of him, he had sustained a blaster wound to the arm, leaving his sleeve in tatters. You bickered endlessly over the right way to clean it, until he insisted on cauterizing it himself.

Even in your panic, the curiosity had loomed as you fussed over his bicep, perhaps because of the way his fidgeting caused him to flex involuntarily. 

And even now there wasn’t any less thrill, as you got one another’s blood up in a completely different way. While you were nosing at whatever skin the Mandalorian had bared, his hand shifted to grip your hair at the root, just gently enough that you didn’t wince. On the contrary, you went lax in his arms and allowed yourself to be guided into a sitting position rather than clinging to him like a monkey-lizard. 

You imagined you looked positively wicked, rocking fully down on his thigh at the sensation of being manhandled, his left hand still firmly at the back of your neck while the right slid to grope your leg, seemingly an endorsement for you to continue getting off on him. The temptation was there, that was for sure. With his (preferably verbal) assistance, you could easily be muffling hysteric cries in his sleeve in a matter of minutes, but more tempting opportunities were present. 

Hey, you had always been a giver. 

“What are you doing?” 

Mando sounded urgent, like if you moved from your spot he’d suffer an unbearable loss. It was tough to pull yourself away from his embrace, but you flashed him an encouraging smile, minding your balance to lower yourself onto your knees between his legs. 

You think it must have taken him a moment, because he goes relatively still, allowing you to rest your head on his inner thigh while you roll the heel of your palm against his increasingly obvious bulge. 

‘What are you doing?’ had given way to ‘Oh fuck, please,’ and other expletives the more you teased him over his clothes. You glanced up at his visor, wide-eyed so that he could look at you properly, if he wanted. And he definitely wanted. 

He tried to fuck into your palm the second you tugged him free, and you could tell that he was trying to decide whether to weave his fingers into your hair again. You let him ruminate on that dilemma by simply darting your tongue out at the head, then licking a stripe up the underside before going in to take all that you could, until you felt your throat constrict in warning. The pressure made him groan and attempt to buck his hips, but you kept him still and stroked the base, purposely whining around his dick to fluster him. 

It worked, and his hand made its way to your head. You assumed the other was gripping the armrest for dear life. The honey-sweet pressure between your own legs grew more abruptly as you concentrated on the way that he tasted.

The touch was welcome, and surprisingly gentle against your scalp. After a while, when your jaw was pleasantly sore, his grip tightened in what you assumed was a warning. The sounds escaping his throat got increasingly louder, even a bit shaky, when you felt his thighs tense up. To his incredulity, and your own smugness, you refused to pull pack, instead letting him spill onto your tongue and become over-sensitive from the attention. 

Judging by the way he tugged you back down on top of him, the ship would have to manage on autopilot for a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> All Mandalorians do is evade intergalactic traffic laws, adopt children, be bisexual, eat hot chip and lie


End file.
